The Riddles of the Heart
by Smallville is fun
Summary: A series of connected VEvey drabbles. Some things just can't be fixed.
1. At First

**A/N: First of all, I would like to thank PrettySiren for being an awesome beta-reader who's full of awesomeness. Now to the story. This fic, when completed, will be a series of connected V/Evey drabbles (and the rating may go up later, folks.) This first drabble is set in movieverse, after Evey finds out that V tortured her. Reviews...well, let's just say I would marry reviews if I could. And please, leave your honest opinion.** **Constructive c****riticism is welcome.**

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"Evey...it was the only way."

She turned to him, her every gesture radiating hate...hate directed at him. He almost wept at the feeling.

"I know you can't forgive me," he continued, biting back the pain. "But I had to erase your fear."

A single tear fell from Evey's eye. It didn't have the normal, fragile warmth her tears usually possessed. It was numb, and for the first time it was functional as well as beautiful.

"I thought I was safe. You led me to believe that I was safe in your arms." Evey closed her eyes, only a fraction longer than a blink. When she opened them the small traces of feeling were gone. "I'm going now."

"Evey, if I had one wish, it would be to see you before the 5th of November," he said quietly.

"I know, V. But we can't always get what we wish for."

Seconds later, she was gone, and so was his ability to hold back his emotions. The next morning he would wake up with a broken mirror and a slightly salty face. But for now he threw himself into his grief, reveled in his agony, and asked himself over and over again what the fuck his problem was.


	2. But Not For Long

**A/N: OK, here's the ACTUAL second drabble. Thanks to all the people who pointed out the error in the last paragraph (should've caught that...) Please tell me if you think I should make this into a story in your review, if you leave one. I'll love you forever if you do.**

**Thanks to PrettySiren for beta-reading. Much love. :-D**

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V stood silently over the sleeping Evey. An observer might have said he was thoughtful, but the truth was he could barely breathe, let alone form a coherent thought. The sensation of Evey's soft breath on his face, her scent…it was very distracting. He whispered to her slumbering form, more for his benefit than for hers.

"I'm...I'm so very, very proud of you, Evey. The things you have done for this new England...it's more than I could have ever hoped for. And Evey, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for lying to you, and for breaking you. Who knew that torture couldn't damage you but the death of a single man could?" He paused, realizing he was babbling. He knew he should make his point before she woke up. "Evey, I...I hope you're healing. I never wanted to see you so fragile, so isolated. I wish with allthat I have that you will heal one day."

"I can't heal without you, V," Evey said stiffly, her eyes still closed."Evey?" V breathed. She was awake.

Evey turned over to face him. Her tone had been cold, but when her eyes opened they were full of tears and a rich, messy mixture of emotions. She rose to her knees and pulled him close, her petite, skinny arms squeezing the air out of his lungs. She sobbed, shaking vehemently, and before long, so was he. They collapsed on Evey's bed in the Shadow Gallery, crying until they had no more tears left.


	3. Never Forgiven, Never Forgotten

**A/N: Basically, this fic sprung out of: 1.) My insane love of _V for Vendetta _and 2.) the fact that I didn't want to work on my History project. Yes, it's quite angsty, but bear with me on this. And finally: reviewslife.**

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She could make one of two sacrifices: V, or herself. And she didn't know which one would be more painful.

God, to go on with her old life…before that night, before V. Before freedom, before confronting herself. It would be so easy just to tell them.

"The subway station." If she could just bring herself to speak those three words, she would be free.

But no, not really. If she spoke those words it would simply lead to her old enslavement, her old, tired oppression that she had quietly accepted before because she didn't know how to defeat it. Now she did.

And yet, the other, perhaps greater, perhaps lesser sacrifice was herself.

What did all these issues of freedom and principles matter if she was not alive to debate them? If she betrayed V they would let her go, and perhaps she could start a new revolution. End his life so that hers might begin anew.

Who was she kidding? She didn't matter to him; she was just a pawn in his vicious game. Her death didn't affect his master plan in the slightest.

Either way, it didn't matter. Either way, she would lose her life. Either way, hope was gone.

Wait.

There was a third way to get out of this horrible trap.

It was so cowardly, such a shameful way to die. Yet the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. V's revolution would live. And she would rob her torturers of the ultimate sadistic pleasure of her execution.

It would work.

But how…?

The answer came to her as she glanced across the room: she would drown herself in the toilet. Yes, it was disgusting, but would be quick and efficient.

Slowly, she crawled toward the toilet, having no strength to stand. She knelt before the bowl, and, drawing what she knew to be her final breath, she plunged her head in.

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V wept as he watched this scene unfold before him. Evey, contemplating, silent tears racing down her cheeks. Tucking the note from Valerie gently into the crack in the wall where she kept it. Dragging herself towards the toilet. Taking a deep, decisive breath, and shoving her head into the foul metal depths.

He knew she was ending her life to ease her own soul, and to spite her torturer. _How would she react if she knew her torturer was me?_

That didn't matter; it was working. She was spiting her torturer painfully and deeply, and it was killing him to watch this. Ending her own life was the worst thing she could possibly do to him, the ultimate revenge, and she didn't even know.

He had promised himself he would let his little charade run its course; it was all up to her what happened. If she revealed his location, he would give her back her old life. If she had kept his secret even under threat of death, then he would reveal himself to her. But he had never considered that she might commit suicide.

What should he do?

His heart told him, _Pull her out, rescue her, and beg her forgiveness. _His bitter mind said, _Let her die. It's what she wants. Besides, it's your turn to be tortured._

V sprinted out of the surveillance room and into Cell 5, finding himself actually praying to God that it was not too late. He had no time to appreciate the irony of his actions, though; all he could do was he yank open the door, fly to her side, and rescue her from drowning.

The moment she sputtered and took a shaky but definitive breath was the happiest moment of his life. He held her starving form in his arms, caressed her skeletal, filthy face, and marveled at her beauty.

It was only then that he decided to maintain the illusion. She had strength in her yet.

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"V?" She must be hallucinating. Or dead. Dead, she decided, because this was heaven; to be held in his arms for eternity, feeling safe for the first time since she was a baby.

"Evey…you have to go back to Earth. The world needs you. You must be strong for me, love. You have to defeat them."

"V, no, I can't do anything. And I…I love you. "

"And I you, Evey. Do you remember my motto: _Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici…"_

"…'By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.' What does that have to do with anything?"

"Truth, Evey. You have it in yourself. It burns within you. With it, you _can_ conquer the universe. And that is why you need to go back."

With that she felt blackness overtake her as she presumably returned to life.

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V gently placed Evey's unconscious body on the ground. He brushed against the base of her skull delicately with his hand; her lovely skin would be marred by a bruise there, where he had knocked her out.

He didn't want to leave her. In fact, the only thing in the world he wanted at that moment was to carry her home, clean her wounds, and feed her all the butter and eggs she could eat.

But he didn't. Hating himself every step of the way, he trudged back to his lair.

Yes, his lair. It was no longer his home. People have homes; monsters have lairs.


End file.
